


Threshold

by Laura_Mayfair



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Community: bsg_kink, Desk Sex, F/M, Prompt Fic, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:25:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_Mayfair/pseuds/Laura_Mayfair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roslin/Zarek as an established couple (of sorts.)  This is what happens after Quorum meetings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Threshold

**Author's Note:**

> __**Kink prompt:** Choose a body part/personal characteristic that gets one character hot for another. Prompt: Roslin/Zarek -- the fact that he can never quite read her.)  
> 

Sometimes Tom Zarek wonders if it’s simply her fiery unpredictability that holds him in perpetual thrall because there has to be some kind of reasonable explanation for the unbreakable hold she has on him.  He’s never been the kind of man to defer to anyone, certainly not to the frivolous distraction of a beautiful woman, no matter how spectacular the sex.  Maybe, he thinks, he was in prison for too long; maybe the enforced regimentation has finally gotten to him.  And, after all, his relationship with Laura Roslin is anything but orderly.  Perhaps he simply craves the beautiful mess of it all, the chaotic departure from cause and effect, the fact that nothing between them can be measured or quantified the way every ounce of food, every second of time was so carefully accounted for during those twenty years when he’d traded his freedom for his principles.

The Quorum meeting is closed even before the final resounding strike of the gavel.  It’s all in that duplicitously modulated voice of hers, the cool dismissal, the affronted glare beneath the pursed lips that masquerades for some strange semblance of a smile.  Her sleight-of-hand intimidation is lovely in an effortlessly seductive kind of way.  She rules with a frozen scepter that is truly a work of art that should be catalogued in a museum for antiquity -- but for all its deceptive beauty, the figurative symbol of her power is no less potent than an iron fist.

And that’s what makes the woman so dangerous.

He knows better than to seek her with his eyes as the Quorum members file out of the room, even though he wants to.  He’s wanted her since the meeting began.  But he can’t let her know it.  He enjoys this little dance they do as much as she does, the question that hangs in the air between them about whether or not they’ll spend the next hour arguing or frakking.  Sometimes they do both -- but Tom is never certain what the outcome will be.

His pulse thrums when he thinks about it.

She looks over the meeting minutes with such focused intent that Tom is almost certain she’s forgotten he’s in the room.  Ah, but that just won’t do.  He moves toward her and she doesn’t bat an eye, not the slightest glance or acknowledgement..  Tom presses in behind her, close enough so she can feel the heat of his body, but not close enough yet to touch her.  He savors the anticipation.

“You do realize, Mr. Vice President,” Laura intones noncommittally as she studies the notes in front of her, “you are invading my personal space.”

He grasps her waist and tugs her backwards against his body so his hard-on presses against her ass.  It’s not subtle but he’s not going for subtlety.  It’s completely illogical how much the mere sound of her voice can turn him on and he’s been listening to her talk on and off for the past forty minutes.  He feels as if his body is in overdrive.  His lips graze her neck as his hands slide up to squeeze her breasts and pinch her nipples through the silk of her blouse.  She gives no physical indication of interest; the only hint she’s enjoying his attention is the fact she isn’t pulling away.

“I’m going to invade a lot more than that,” he tells her confidently as he rubs his hands up and down her thighs, reaching for the hem of her skirt.  If she’d ever allow it, and he doesn’t think she would, he’d barter for a few of Aerilon’s fine silk scarves and tie her up.  He’d fantasized about it enough times, teasing her until she’d beg him for it. He's a patient man.  He could make her wait.  But even in a fantasy scenario, it's difficult to imagine Laura begging for anything.  Still, it's a lovely image, the idea of beautiful Laura Roslin at his mercy, the intoxicating thought of her relinquishing even a fraction of that glacial control -- to him.

Tom sucks on her earlobe and Laura gives a silent sigh.  He only knows because he can feel her quiet exhalation as his hands slip underneath her blouse.

“Turn around,” he whispers tightly in her ear.  She complies without hesitation but her green eyes are defiant with the amusement that flickers in them.  She indulges him at her own whim, not his.  Her hands reach for his jaw and she kisses him, sucking languidly on his bottom lip as she untucks his shirt. Her hands roam up and down his chest, dipping down past his navel but not low enough.

Tom finds the zipper at the waistband of her skirt and pulls it down.  She shimmies out of the skirt, her eyes locked on his as she gives a provocative little rotation of her hips.  With a grunt, he pushes her back against the desk as pens and papers and folders scatter to the floor.  He lifts her up onto the flat surface and pushes her knees apart, sliding his hand up along her inner thigh to her panties.  He rubs her through the silky fabric.  She’s soaking wet.

“I’m going to frak you, Laura.”  He enjoys saying it, enjoys hearing it, enjoys doing it.  He nibbles on her neck until she hisses at him, withdrawing a little.

“No marks.”

“I really am going to have to buy you a scarf or two one of these days.”  He kisses lightly down to her collarbone.

“Well, you’d better get on with the frakking, Mr. Zarek.  I have another meeting in twenty-five minutes.”  The breathiness that lurks under the clipped control in her voice has him stifling a groan.

He pulls her underwear down and unzips his fly.  They’re both still half dressed when Tom plunges inside her.  He fraks her slowly at first, languorous and deep.  It’s his own small measure of defiance. _I won’t be rushed._  When she comes, it’s a beautiful thing and she isn’t quiet about it.  Of course, he knows she has an agenda.

But as he thrusts harder and faster just before he reaches his own climax, as she squeezes him until he’s a quivering mess entangled in her arms, he realizes he doesn’t care.


End file.
